Snow days . . .

If we had gotten Spokane's 24.6 inches of snow that fell here in the month of November when we lived in Corvallis, everything would have closed down. Here, the city throws snow plows out on arterials (main roads) 24-7 in staged alerts. We watch the weather channel and plan quick trips to the store. The shelves are stocked, and I have driven on sheer sheets of washboard ice. More snow comes Tuesday, we think nothing of nights that drop to the low teens, and we're tracking the melt rate on the prodigous icicles that hang from the overhang of our back window.



Next week we'll fly to Philadelphia for a three-week stay over New Year's. I'll miss Rachel and Nick, but I'm ready to travel again, and I'm no longer worried about the snow. Late last week just at dusk, I saw a four point buck grazing at twilight, daintily picking his way past the pines and through the empty field next to our house. My grandfather would have longed for his rifle. I marveled this beautiful animal made it through hunting season.

I remember walking in Manito Park earlier early this November. How quickly the leaves have fallen. Two weeks ago, I flew to Portland and saw this from above, concentric circles of yellow around each tree, denuded of leaves, surrounded by tall pine trees and undulating hills of green. Now all is covered with white.

This week, winter truly began with a blizzard. We can feel the cold down to our bones. A high of 13 degrees today with tiny bits of snow falling all day, Tonight, the low goes down to minus 1 degrees. I've been teased about driving. Rachel's promised me lessons. I'm grateful the cupboards are full, the crock pot is out, and so far, the power stays on.

City View in Spokane . . .

Today felt like one of those end-of-summer days. Just 74 degrees, yet we could feel a twist of cold when the wind blew. We drove out along City View to discover a hiking trail that cuts straight down the hill.

A kindly mountain biker said we could hike along the fairly ambitious trail for many miles. We took the shorter, simpler loop, meandered under pine trees, spotted two magpies, and were grateful for walking sticks on the narrow, winding, slippery trail.

Tonight I can hear Canada geese honking their way north. Winter is coming.

Saturday noon . . .

It's Saturday noon at the Brooklyn Deli, downtown Spokane, a cool 78 degrees, sunny, with Bob Dylan's raspy voice singing, "I'm walking down the highway, my suitcase in my hand." I could be in Brooklyn. I'm looking up at an elevated train splashed with graffiti, rolling by as fast as the traffic, cars and a bright yellow van. City traffic outside. I'm eating Thai chicken soup hot enough to compensate for those leaves turning red and brown just outside the door.

I'm thinking about my writing (always) and today's headlines here in Spokane. Another police shooting, the third in four weeks. This time a woman tried to cut out the back window just as the police broke in on a drug raid. She got shot in the arm. She's pregnant.

On my way here, I saw a police car parked by the local synagogue, a visible officer standing guard. I don't think that happens in Brooklyn.

They reappeared this morning. Two does grazing in the field, just along the pines. Their long necks stretched out in the high grasses, their shaggy red flanks predicting winter. I hadn't spotted them all summer and wondered where the fawns of early spring had gone. But they came back to this copse of pines next to our apartment building, maybe remembering home.

I ran for the camera and when I returned, only one deer remained, leisurely grazing and then moving back under the pine trees, her long white tail flicking and then hidden from view. How I fill my days with structure, deadlines, commitments. My writing continues. The seasons turn. Winter comes. And in the spring, just maybe, new life.

And in Seattle . . .

Our three-day trip to Seattle led us to a Mariners/Red Sox game (a friend came by free tickets and gave them to us), the awards dinner at the Pacific Northwest Writers Association, and a visit to the Seattle Art Museum. The sun shone, the sky was impossibly blue, and like any rare Pacific Northwest summer day, no humidity and no rain.

The Mariners game introduced me to the beloved Ichiro, the incomparable Japanese player, who approaches home plate with an unusual stance, knees locked together, feet widespread. When he hits the ball, his entire body springs forward, as if to release all his energy into that connection with the baseball and the run to first base. I am not a sports fan (except for being somewhat crazy about soccer), but Ichiro could make me fall in love with baseball. His every move breathes grace and intention. Though the Mariners lost, the game itself was a cliff-hanger, with loaded bases and splintered bats.

The Seattle Art Museum still dazzles with its permanent collection. An exhibit of Australian aboriginal art is planned for fall 2011, and we discovered the work of Lin Onus, whose mother was a Scot and whose father was aboriginal. His painting, "Gathering Storm" (1993) is mesmerizing. You look into a waterscape, eucalytus trees shadow the dark blue water and fantastic goldfish shimmer in the depths, painted with markings much like spirit markings. I didn't have my camera, but I will remember this painting. Allen says since the Museum offers this print through its shop, maybe that will be my anniversary present. Onus painted with a sense of the beauty of the environment and the essence of Australia. Unforgettable and he died far too young.

The reason for our trip to Seattle was to attend the Pacific Northwest Writers Association awards dinner as I was a finalist in the historical fiction category. As the names of the "winners" were called Saturday night, we held our breath. I came in second, earning my first check ever for creative writing, and so I remain humbled and grateful for this affirmation. Now, surrounded by books and online resources, I continue research for the next book in the series -- perhaps set in Hawaii, Tasmania, and the Pacific Northwest, all 19th Century. As Rick Bylina says, "Writers write!"

Last weekend we trekked south to Redmond, Oregon, to visit Jamie and Henry. What a visit! We rode a summer ski lift (with legs dangling over the side), up to nearly the top of Mt. Batchelor (some 8,000 feet high) with amazing views of snow-covered mountains.

A thunderstorm chased us down, and then Henry drove us on a loop route around part of the Cascade Lakes Recreation Area for different views of the mountains -- the Three Sisters, Broken Top, and Mt. Washington in the distance. We stopped for lunch in a funky lakeside cafe at Todd Lake, smelled the sweet smell of flowering manzanita along the way, and came home to a fish fry, fresh caught trout (what Henry calls fish bait). And that was Day One.

Saturday began at Sisters, at the 35th Annual Sisters Outdoor Quilt Show, featuring this year the works of Jean Wells Keenan, who began it all at her quilt shop, The Stitchin' Post. Now at the High Desert Gallery, her mantra still rings: "Nature always wears the colors of the spirit." Her artistry is inspirational as seen here in her quilt, "Inspired Journey".


Along with 20,000 other avid lovers of quilts, we viewed not nearly all of 1,300 quilts.


For more pictures, go to my Webshot photos for the Sisters Quilt Show or here to see the Sisters Raffle Quilt ("Timeless" designed by June Jaeger). The next five quilts I hope to make are waiting.